Problematique
by mymywhatasly
Summary: He always knew it would come to this; he just didn't think he would be on this side of it all when it finally came to its culmination. Battle of Hogwarts. Dramione. One-shot. Based off Muse's "Map of the Problematique".


He always knew it would come to this; he just didn't think he would be on this side of it all when it finally came to its culmination, gripping her hand so forcefully he only briefly registered the fact that he could be hurting her.

After what seemed like an eternity he finally found her in the castle, tucked next to a portrait long-fled, the words of an _Impedimenta_ jinx barely out of her mouth. He knew it was a suicide mission just attempting to find her - viewed as a blood traitor by those who raised him, and the spawn of Death Eaters by those who he had spurned from birth - but he couldn't bear to imagine the thought of enduring this without her.

Standing now in the courtyard, his own flesh and blood following the Dark Lor - no, _Voldemort_ , he mentally corrected himself - with the body of one Harry James Potter in tow, it took his breath away by just how wrong they were, by how wrong he was. Blood ran in rivulets between all of the flagstones, that of purebloods intermingled with half-bloods and muggle-borns, and all the same sickening red so dark it was almost black.

He chanced a glance over at her, her eyes full of pain but her face set in grim determination. Where his Slytherin tendencies were screaming at him to run, he saw the moment her Gryffindor nature steeled her reserve, almost heard her in his head - _this changes nothing_.

Ignoring Voldemort's byplay, he felt the family magic jolt the instant he locked eyes with his mother. Showing emotion he hadn't seen since he was a small boy in the privacy of his mother's own garden, he renewed his vice-like grip on the hand of the one woman he had let close enough to break down his walls, drawing her attention away for just a moment. It was just long enough for her to rub her thumb against the back of his hand, the one gesture of comfort she had to offer. His mother missed nothing of course, eyes sparking anew at the implication of such a gesture.

A commotion caused him to tear his gaze away, but it took his mind to catch up to what his eyes saw - there was no _fucking_ way. The woman next to him was practically beside herself, seeing The-Boy-Who-Lived come to life once more. He felt like he could breathe for the first time since he set foot on the grounds, the place he used to call 'home'.

Chaos.

Her hand was torn away from his as they both engaged in the fight of their lives. He shouldn't have been, but he was surprised at just how verdant the air was. Ricochets of color exploding in front of his _protego,_ curses and jinxes hurled back to his opponents with a quickness that was borne of duel practices with his father every summer and chasing toy snitches around the grounds; it wasn't until one of those jets of green came towards him that he realized how easy it would be, easy to let go, to drift off into nothing, to make this war within him still. Until he had a shield charm in front of him thrown so heavily, it scorched the breath out of his lungs.

Recognizing what her magic did once more for him, he felt his world shift anew. Time itself had slowed, his magic crackled within him, spreading first to the tips of his toes and then hurtling towards his wand, allowing him to throw three hexes off in succession so quickly, he was even taken aback by its ferocity.

Assessing they were no longer in immediate danger, he ran over to her side, her curls matted to her face and neck, and he longed to sweep them off her, to sweep her _away_ from here, but she was riveted on the ultimate showdown, the one that would decide the fate of the wizarding world.

A Death Eater, mask askew and no longer caring about appearances, had worked his way over to them, his wand vibrating with all of the darkest of magic that had been spewn out of it. Unbeknownst to the pair, who once again were grasping hands so tightly he was sure they had broken something, they had no time to even form a spell on their lips; it didn't even matter.

Chest heaving, his mother dropped her wand arm at her side, the six syllables of that killing curse ringing through the air at the same moment they left Tom Riddle's forsaken mouth.

Finally, it was over.

For the second time in his life, he felt like he had done something right, both of which involved the lion clutching onto him for dear life at the moment.

"Well my dragon, are you going to introduce us or stand about crushing that poor girl's hand?"

"Hermione Granger, Narcissa Malfoy; mum, this is Hermione"


End file.
